It’s Personalised

15 August

All right demons, here goes.

I’ve just got off the phone with Jacqui. Her calls always leave me feeling that I need therapy, so this seemed as good a time as any to start this stupid journal.

She rang to say she’s taken the plunge and done the Belief Corp thing everyone is going on about, and how it’s the best thing she’s ever done. Expensive she said, but money well spent. All I could think was how the other half live. She certainly was in a flutter: “Oh darling, I just had to call you, I’m the ‘h’ word: ‘happeee’.” I could hear all the extra ‘e’s running towards me. I’ve learned that her calls are intended as monologues, and that my contributions should be limited to, “Yes Jaks, I know Jaks, I know.” I wish I felt brave enough to tune her out. Maybe put the phone on mute and get on with the dishes. Unfortunately, I can’t help but pay attention when someone else is talking.

This time, paying attention paid off, so to speak. I found myself tempted. Jaks got her own personalised religion and that doesn’t sound half bad. If Belief Corp can help our Jaks find her bliss, well maybe it can help me too. I too could be happeee-r.

In the interest of letting go of grudges, there is something Jaks does which gets my goat. She uses self-deprecation as a way of boasting. “Darling, they were all talking such nonsense at brunch, twittering on and on about my new glow. Can you imagine, darling?” I guess calling me could really wait until after brunch but I should be fair to her. She clearly needed to be told about her new glow so she could bring it up on our call. She definitely wasn’t basking in the adulation of her little coven. Me, I think it’s probably the shine from her sweaty face but I suppose it could be a glow. I wasn’t there.

–

9 September

Contrary to what mum says, I am not a cynic. Really, I’m not. I told her I had tried writing to my demons but that it wasn’t for me. I don’t like writing about myself. But she went on and on about how everyone says they want to give up just after starting, and it’s a sign of self-sabotage, and Dr Hack says all change is painful. Because that’s not cliché at all.

This Moleskine is empty except for my one sad entry from 15 August. Writing my thoughts didn’t help but I know what mum will say: “Persevere, love. You can’t expect change to happen all at once, now can you?” Then I will have to listen to another evangelical piece of testimony about her lord and saviour Dr Hack.

Her and her book club. The Redcar Readers fancy themselves the Oprah book club of the North. They read a different self-help book every fortnight and feel mighty proud of themselves. Mum is obsessed with Writing to Your Demons by Dr Ferdinand Hack. Dr, my arse. They read it back in January but from the way she’s kept on about it you’d think all they’ve done is reread Writing to Your Demons twice a month so they can continue to ooh and ahh about it.

I read it because I’m trying to bond with mum. So here I sit again, writing to my demons. Demons, are you listening? Or reading?

–

20 October

Entry 3. Look at me go! At this rate, I’ll fill my Moleskine in what, twenty years?

I’m giving Belief Corp a go. Mum’s thoughts on Dr Hack notwithstanding, I do feel that I need to try something to improve myself. Jaks has continued to wax lyrical, and I thought it’s only money, and the demons aren’t offering any solutions.

I was bricking it when I arrived at Belief Corp this morning. I will admit I was also the teensiest bit excited. Lately, I have been feeling lethargic. Lacking energy. Not wanting to do much. When I told Jaks a few weeks ago, she tried pushing essential oils on me. Peppermint for fatigue, or orange and spearmint. When she started taking them, she noticed all these wonderful changes in her life. Some specialist even put together a proprietary blend just for her and she’s sleeping so much better and has so much more energy. Yeah yeah yeah.

I never did try them. I’m perfectly happy with a regular herbal tea thank you very much.

I couldn’t find much about Belief Corp but there is this one study which says their products “could have potentially positive mental health outcomes in some people”. So I figure, what’s the harm? It’s just words. Oils, you put in your body and you’ve no idea what they’ll get up to. If some words can make me happeee, I’m all ears and if I’m anything like Jaks’s, Belief Corp will jangle my bits right up. I’ll be on the path to a new me. I won’t have to chat with my demons anymore. Here’s to bloody hoping.

God (as yet to be defined), I was waiting for ages. What’s the point in having an appointment if you still have to wait for hours? I decided to call mum. I found myself on the edge of telling her what I was doing but thought better of it and asked instead what she thought of the whole thing. Mum didn’t like to show it, but I knew she was curious about all this Belief Corp malarky. Then her friend Patsy from the Redcar Readers became a Hasidic Odin-bound. Took to wearing big black hats and prancing around this funny tree in her back yard wearing not much except the hat. Looked a right loon. After that, mum said, she was having none of it. She said she didn’t see what was wrong with the good old CoE. Belief Corp was ‘uppity nonsense’. It was the right call not telling her I’m doing it.

Jaks got Christo-Bhuddislam. She’s vague about what that means apart from poufy saffron robes, a large crucifix, and shouting at people who paint anything other than geometric patterns. Jaks does like shouting at people. But she also does seem happeee. She says she’s happeee. Her bespoke holy book arrives on Tuesday. She went for the deluxe package. La. Di. Da.

My turn finally came. It’s three months’ pay for a basic personalised religion, with bullet-point suggested practice. That’s all I can afford, but doesn’t it sound wonderful? My own personalised religion. I don’t need more than a few bullet-points. That’ll do me. Jacqui says she needs the full holy book to completely ground her. As a Christo-Bhuddislam(ist?), she finally feels herself. But to truly, properly feel herself, Jaks says she needs to have her bespoke holy book. And a shrine, apparently.

–

21 October

Hello demons. Did you miss me? I’m trying to do right by Dr Hack, so here I am updating you about what happened. Two days in a row! I will stop if my new religion pans out. Nothing personal, but I do think you’re bunk. Sorry if you’re real, demons.

The whole thing at Belief Corp went quicker than I thought it would. It was not what I expected. There was a ping and my number flashed up on the screen: “go to room 43”. I went down this corridor where all the doors looked exactly the same, just like my office. I stood outside room 43 waiting for something to happen. Some bloke came down the corridor after me. He stood in front of another door for a while. We looked at each other, we shrugged, and went into our doors. I saw him on the way out too. His name’s Mark. He’s divorced. I shouldn’t have said hi.

Anyway.

The room was tiny. Just enough space for this budget desk and chair. Probably Ikea. I mean, come on. Even the stingy bastards at my office pay for better kit. The computer looked decades old. I was afraid to touch anything in case smoke started coming out. Something certainly smelled a bit charred.

Eventually, after much desperate fan whirring, the screen filled with the huge BC logo, but it looked weird. Like it was supposed to be BBC but someone had forgotten about the first B. I didn’t know what to do so I just stood there like a lemon. I was looking for a fire extinguisher when a message winked on which read “Hello [[Name]]! Welcome! Please sit down!”

The computer was shouting at me. I also did not feel best served by being called [[Name]]. Still, I was there. I had paid. I sat down and the questions began. Favourite colour (don’t have one). Most hated month (all of them). How often I pee (cheek!). Saying whether a series of faces made me feel good or bad (all faces make me feel bad). And just like that it was over.

The machine sat thinking for a while and then the disconcerting BC logo returned. More desperate whirring and a message flashed up, “Congratulations [[Name]]! We are now printing your personalised religion! Please return to the waiting area!”

I chose to believe that the computer was shouting for joy instead of bellowing instructions. I went back to the waiting area and you know what, I was surprised by how much I wanted to know what I was going to get. The swipe-swipe of a bog-standard office printer couldn’t dampen my spirits. Not even the cheap paper and smudged ink of my new personalised religion made me salty. Nothing could make me feel like I hadn’t got value for money. This was it. This was the beginning of my new life.  

Jedi of Ganesha. That’s me now. The bullet-point practice is a hoot. Mum will lose her hairnet if she ever finds out and I don’t see why she ever should.

So, demons. Do I feel any better? I don’t know.

–

1 December

I’m trying to keep journaling for Dr Hack. Mum gets off my case if I tell her that I am. I realise as I write this that I don’t actually have to do it. I just have to tell her that I am.

Hi demons. Are you well? As a Ganesha(n?) Jedi, my main spiritual task is to meditate on the unity of all things for twenty minutes every morning. It’s difficult to stay awake. My meditation sometimes lasts for an hour. I’ve been late for work twice. To be honest, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking for, but maybe I’ll understand the unity of all things if I keep meditating about it.

I’m also supposed to get a bandicoot rat. I haven’t been able to face going to a pet shop. I’m terribly allergic to most animal fur. But Jedi’s of Ganesha have badicoot rats.

I feel I should be happeee by now. Or at least a little happeee-r. Maybe I should reconsider the essential oils.